


my mind is set on you

by kiranerys42



Series: I'm Only Sleeping [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Episode: s04e01 Dead Guy in Room 4, Fluff, M/M, Only One Bed, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23054179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranerys42/pseuds/kiranerys42
Summary: David and Patrick end up having a sleepover after all.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: I'm Only Sleeping [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1680457
Comments: 71
Kudos: 307





	my mind is set on you

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [this_is_not_nothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing) for cheerleading and for making me write (slightly) more kissing. 
> 
> Title is from "I'm So Tired" by The Beatles.

David isn't sure how it happens. It started when the coroner’s van died; then Alexis said she was taking the car to Elmdale to spend the night with a mysterious _friend_ who seems to have appeared out of thin air. Worst of all, Stevie suddenly and mysteriously went completely MIA. So now he’s here, knocking on Patrick's door, overnight bag in hand. 

Although it's not exactly _Patrick's_ door. 

“David! It's so nice to see you!” Ray exclaims as he greets David at the door. “Patrick told me you’d be staying here tonight, because of the dead body at the motel, of course. Do corpses get charged the normal rate? Or is there a discount for the deceased?”

“Um—”

Ray doesn’t wait for David to respond, which is for the best, because David has no idea what to say. “What am I thinking?” Ray continues with a laugh. “I just took the lasagna out of the oven, and this is far too macabre of a conversation to have over dinner. We’ll have to save it for dessert!”

Ray excuses himself to go check on the garlic bread, so David doesn’t get a chance to ask why dead bodies are acceptable conversation for dessert but not dinner. Seconds later, Patrick rushes down the stairs, stumbling into the room.

“Hi, sorry, I was in the shower,” Patrick says breathlessly, and he greets David with a kiss. Patrick’s hair is damp, and he smells like cheap soap and even cheaper shampoo, which _somehow_ is a smell that suits him. It occurs to David that this is the second time Patrick has kissed him. Well, it’s the third time they’ve kissed—or is it the fourth? But it’s only the second time Patrick has been the one to initiate a kiss, and that realization sends a thrill through David that makes him lean in slightly, chasing Patrick as he pulls away.

David can’t be sure if the slight flush on Patrick’s cheeks is because of the shower or the kiss. Kissing him again seems like the best way of finding out, but they’re interrupted before David gets a chance to. 

“Dinner’s ready!” Ray shouts cheerfully from the kitchen. “The bread is only a _little_ bit burned!”

“He’s actually a pretty good cook, I promise,” Patrick mutters reassuringly as they make their way to the kitchen table. And it turns out that Patrick is right—Ray _is_ a pretty good cook. It’s much better than the sad excuse for lasagna they serve on Tuesdays at the café, and the garlic bread really isn’t _that_ badly burned. 

David manages to make it through dinner _and_ dessert without a single mention of the dead body at the motel, which he counts as a win, even though it means he has to spend the better part of an hour pretending to be interested in Ray’s fast-growing closet organization business. The way Patrick blushes when Ray mentions that he was one of Ray’s first customers is _very_ interesting, and definitely calls for some follow-up questions later when they’re alone. Of course, David is Ray’s next target. He’s politely evasive as Ray stubbornly insists that David could benefit from this _life-changing opportunity_ , and he even manages to avoid admitting that he keeps most of his wardrobe in a motel room with disgustingly red sheets and a ceiling mirror simply by saying that he already has already has an “alternative walk-in organizational solution” that he’s quite pleased with.

After dinner, Patrick insists on helping with the dishes, which means David has to help, too. Except he’s not sure what to do, so he just ends up hovering near Patrick as he dries and puts away dishes.

Finally, after all the dishes are done, Patrick manages to gently decline Ray’s invitation to watch Star Wars—or is it Star Trek?—David isn’t really listening. At first David thinks Patrick’s “sorry, Ray, but we have to work early” is a very clever white lie, but then he has the uncomfortable realization that it’s actually _true_ , at least for Patrick. David doesn’t usually show up to work until 10, which means Patrick’s there at 8:30 sharp every morning to be ready to open by 9. But tomorrow, David won’t be walking to work from the motel; he’ll be going into work with Patrick, and Patrick usually drives, because it’s a pretty long walk from Ray’s to Rose Apothecary. Fuck. Will Patrick expect David to get to the store at _8:30 in the morning_ tomorrow?

David is so distracted by his concerns about the morning that he forgets to be anxious about the fact that they’re walking up the stairs to Patrick’s room. Patrick’s bedroom, where they’ll both be sleeping tonight, presumably. Unless—does Patrick want David to sleep on the couch? David could do that, probably; it can’t be much worse than the motel bed. Or—what if _Patrick_ insists on sleeping on the couch? David can’t let that happen, it’s not right, Patrick shouldn’t have to—

 _Fuck_. They come to a stop just outside Patrick’s room. Patrick opens the door, turns on the light, and sheepishly gestures inside. “So—this is my room.” 

“Oh my god,” David says as they enter the room, “what the _fuck_ —”

“Before you get any further: yes, I asked Ray about it; he _claims_ the old woman who lived here before him is responsible for the decor, but Ray hung up that ‘Home Sweet Home’ sign two weeks after I moved in. And no, I haven’t tried to redecorate. It’s not my house, David; that would be rude.”

David’s jaw drops and he takes in the room. The wallpaper alone would have been enough to render David speechless. But there’s also the lamps, and the art, and the _frames_ around the art, and perhaps worst of all, there’s the— _whatever_ the hell is going on with those trinkets on the shelf in the corner; David wouldn’t know how to even begin to describe _that_. In fact, David is concerned he may never be able to form a coherent sentence again.

Patrick wordlessly takes David’s overnight bag from his hands and sets it on the dresser, then he crosses the room and settles in on the ancient red armchair in the corner. “Besides, I kind of like this chair, at least. It’s quaint. And pretty comfy, too.”

David collects himself enough to cautiously edge around the narrow path between the foot of the bed and the absolutely atrocious wicker dresser, which looks like it might fall apart if he brushes against it. Once he safely makes it to the other side of the room, he stops just a few inches in front of Patrick, who’s still seated in the chair.

“That chair is hideous.”

“But it’s _comfortable_ , David,” Patrick reiterates, shimmying his shoulders back and forth as he settles further into the chair, which should not be nearly as attractive as it is. Fuck, David isn’t even sure why he chose to point out the hideousness of the chair, because it isn’t half as hideous as the lace throw draped over its back. And that’s not even mentioning Patrick’s threadbare t-shirt and sweatpants. Fuck, there’s a _hole_ in his t-shirt, right by the neck, and David even thinks that’s endearing. He’s hopeless.

“Well, I’ll just—have to take your word for it, then; since I’m not the one sitting there.”

Patrick raises his eyebrows. “Would you like to sit here?” 

“I, um—no. I’m good.”

“I don’t know. I really think you should try it; you might be surprised by how comfortable it is.” Patrick makes no move to get up from the chair. If anything, he looks more settled into the chair now than ever, leaning to the side a bit and draping one arm over the armrest.

“But you’re—I can’t—” David tries not to think about sitting down on Patrick’s lap. He wouldn’t even _fit_ , really—or, maybe he would; Patrick’s only a little bit shorter than him, so—it could work. David wants to find out. He wants to know if they fit together like that. He wants to know _all_ the ways they could fit together.

But he can’t, at least not yet, because they’re _taking it slow_.

“You’re impossible,” David finally settles on, and he turns away to go get his pajamas out of his overnight back, but Patrick stops him with a hand on his wrist. 

“Hey, I wanted to say—” Patrick has that wide-eyed, open look on his face that means he’s about to say something embarrassingly earnest, and David’s not going to know how to respond. “I’m sorry that you can’t stay at the motel tonight, and if I made you feel, um, unwelcome earlier. Because you are very welcome.” Patrick is touching—no, _caressing_ David’s hand. He’s stroking his thumb across David’s palm, and playing with David’s rings, and it’s far more distracting than it has any right to be.

“Anyway,” Patrick concludes, finally letting go of David’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here. And thank you for, you know—agreeing to take things slow.” Patrick looks away from David as he says that last part.

“This is still a sleepover, though,” David whispers. “Sleepovers aren’t slow.” But even as David says it, he doubts himself. Are sleepovers slow? What is _slow_? What does Patrick think _slow_ is?

“Well, yeah, but it’s not a—it’s not _that_ kind of sleepover,” and Patrick is _blushing_ , which is very sweet. David isn’t sure what to make of the fact that Patrick is capable of fully committing to flirtatious teasing like _you have a sloppy mouth_ , but also blushes and stutters about _that kind of sleepover_. 

“About that, uh, I was meaning to ask, actually, do you want me to—I mean—I can sleep on the couch, if you’d like.” David cringes at his lack of coherency, but he forces himself to keep talking. “Or—if that’s what you, um, _thought_ would be happening, I didn’t mean to assume, when I said this was a _sleepover_ , that we’d—”

“Oh, no, it’s—it’s fine, David. The bed’s big enough for both of us, I think.” Patrick laughs nervously, slapping his hands down on his thighs and shifting as if he’s about to stand up, but settling back down onto the chair instead. 

David decides to relieve the awkwardness by giving them both some space. “Okay, well, I need to…” He gestures backwards towards his overnight bag. “I only brought the bare minimum of skincare products, but it’s still a five-step routine, so…”

“Oh, of course. Go ahead. Actually—” This time, Patrick jumps to his feet without hesitating. “I need to go brush my teeth, I’ll just... do that while you change. And then you can have the bathroom for your mysterious skin care wizardry.”

“Okay, it’s not _magic_ ; skin care is actually a very exact science—” But Patrick is out the door before David can explain how the ten-step Korean skincare routine is backed by decades of scientific advancement. Not that David will be _able_ to do all 10 steps tonight, of course. 

David changes into his pajamas, and when Patrick returns a few minutes later, he gives David a quick minty-fresh kiss. “These are nice,” Patrick says, smoothing a hand down David’s arm.

“Thanks,” David replies. “They’re—” Commes de Garçons, for the shirt; and Tom Ford, for the bottoms; but Patrick won’t know what that means. “They’re, um, expensive.”

Then David’s off to the bathroom, which, perhaps unsurprisingly, has decor that’s at least as bad as Patrick’s bedroom. There’s an _actual chenille rug_ around the base of the toilet, and a matching toilet lid cover in a grotesque shade of green that David might call _olive_ if he were feeling generous, which he isn’t, so he decides it’s actually closer to _seaweed_. 

David does his best to ignore his surroundings as he gets through his skin care routine as quickly as possible. Normally he doesn’t want to rush these things, but he can’t stop thinking about Patrick, alone back in his room, doing—David’s not sure what, really. He can’t let himself wonder too much about what Patrick might do alone in his bed, not while he’s literally down the hall from the person and the bed in question. Not when he’s about to go _sleep_ in that bed, the bed where Patrick probably lies awake at night, sometimes, thinking about— _David_ , or about—

David screws the lid back on his under-eye serum with more force than is necessary, throws the various bottles and jars back in his bag, and heads back to Patrick’s bedroom before he can get too far with _that_ train of thought.

When David gets back to Patrick’s room, Patrick is already settled in bed, and the lights are off. He closes the door behind him, and it’s nearly pitch black, save for the red glow emanating from the clock radio on Patrick’s nightstand. David manages to tiptoe to the bed and climb in without tripping over anything or making too much noise.

The pillows are too firm, but there are a surprising amount of them, so he tries them all, doing his best to move as little as possible as he shuffles them around. Except he’s pretty sure he isn’t succeeding at being discreet, and they’re all equally terrible, so he finally gives up and settles on the one with the best pillowcase. 

Then he moves on to the sheets. First he pulls them all the way up to under his chin, but that’s too warm; then he tries putting an arm and a leg out, but that’s too cold, so he tries just the arm, and that’s better. 

Good. Now that he’s comfortable, maybe he can sleep. He just needs to not think about Patrick, who’s right next to him, also trying to sleep. Or maybe Patrick is asleep already? David rolls over a bit, craning his neck to try and see if it looks like Patrick’s asleep. Not that he’d be able to see anything in the dark, but—he still wants to check. Just in case.

“David, if you’re not comfortable, I can go sleep on the couch.” Apparently, Patrick is wide awake. Patrick shifts towards the edge of the bed, and that’s the _last_ thing David wants. Before he realizes what he’s doing, David reaches out and grabs Patrick’s arm. 

“No, it’s—it’s not that. It’s just...I’ve never really done this before? So I’m not really sure, um, how this works, exactly,” David admits in a rush.

“You’ve never...what, shared a bed before?”

“Not really,” David says. “I mean, I _have_ , but not...like this.” David isn’t sure how to say _I’ve only done this if I was high, or if I passed out after having sex, or both._ “So for me, this is—not slow.”

“Oh,” Patrick breathes. “I see.” For a long moment, Patrick doesn’t say anything else. In the silence, David realizes his hand is still on Patrick’s arm, and he reluctantly lets go.

“I guess you’re right, this isn’t _slow_ , really.” Patrick continues. “But I mostly just meant I want to go slow with—you know. Sex.”

“Yeah,” David says. “I get that, now.”

“And it’s not—you know it’s not because I’m not interested, right?”

“Mmhm, I definitely got that impression.” David can’t see Patrick in the dark, which is a shame, because he’s probably blushing right now, and he looks absolutely gorgeous when he blushes.

“And it’s not because—”

“Wait,” David interrupts. “I feel like you’re making a big deal out of this? But you don’t have to. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s fine.” David takes a deep breath. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me excuses, or… or feel like whatever you’re feeling isn’t okay. Because it’s all okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

“Okay,” Patrick says.

“Okay,” David agrees.

“Okay, David,” Patrick laughs. 

They lay in comfortable silence for a moment. David glances over at Patrick. His eyes haven’t fully adjusted to the dark yet, so he can just barely see the outline of Patrick’s face, but he can’t tell if Patrick’s eyes are open or closed.

“Hold on,” Patrick says. “You said you don’t know how this _works_? What part of sleeping together don’t you understand?”

“Excuse me. I understand _sleeping together_. Just not—you know. _Sleeping_ together.”

Patrick laughs. “Well, it’s pretty simple. Sometimes you talk for a while, first, so I think we’ve got that part covered. Then you sleep. You know, like you normally do.”

“Mkay, but _normally_ I’m sprawled out over the entire bed, and the pillows are situated in a very specific way? But tonight the pillows are all different, and there’s someone else taking up half the bed, which is a real obstacle to my usual routine.”

“Oh, that must be terrible for you.”

“Mmhm, it’s awful.”

When Patrick continues, he’s so quiet David almost can’t hear him. “Sometimes there’s cuddling,” he says.

David has lots of experience with people implying they might want something in bed without outright saying it, and he’s very good at following up with a direct question confirming whether it’s okay to proceed, because consent is important. It’s just that the things he’s used to people asking for in bed are things like fisting or barebacking or coming on his face, not _cuddling_. No one has _ever_ asked for that.

“Would you like that?” David asks. “Um. I mean, do you want to do that...right now?”

David expects Patrick to tease him. He’s asking if he can _cuddle_ with him, for fuck’s sake. But when Patrick responds, he doesn’t sound like he’s teasing. Instead, he sounds vulnerable.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Patrick whispers. “If that’s okay with you,” he adds quickly.

“Mmhm, yes, that’s definitely okay,” David says. 

Neither of them moves.

“Do you—”

“Should I—”

They both roll over to face each other, and David is grateful that his eyes have finally adjusted to the dim light of Patrick’s clock radio, because it means he can see the way Patrick’s eyes crinkle a bit when he laughs.

“This is ridiculous,” Patrick says, echoing David’s thoughts exactly. “I’m being—ridiculous.”

“Mm, I think we’re _both_ guilty of that, right now,” David says. “So let’s just get straight to the point: big spoon or little spoon?”

David doesn’t think it’s a particularly difficult question, but Patrick doesn’t answer right away, which makes David realize that it’s actually a _terrible_ question. If Patrick has only dated women before this, maybe he was always the big spoon; straight people are weird about that, sometimes. Not that any women Patrick dated were by default _straight_ , of course, but—David has some suspicions. And if Patrick has only been with women, chances are that they were smaller than him, too. It’s different, trying to see how your body fits with someone who’s closer to your own size, or bigger than you, and what if Patrick is worried about logistics, or about cuddling _incorrectly_ , as if that’s even a _thing_ , or—

“Um. I guess... I don’t have a preference, really. Do you?”

David can’t believe he’s spiraling about this. It’s just _cuddling_. David has done far more complicated and intimidating things in bed. Of course, the difficult part here isn’t the _doing_ , really; it’s the _talking_.

“Mm, I like both.” David tries not to think too hard about the other implications of that statement. He moves closer to Patrick, resting one hand on Patrick’s hip and tucking his other hand up under his own head. Once David is settled, he tilts his head forward just enough to give Patrick a kiss. He tries to keep it soft and chaste, and it works, for a moment. But then Patrick nips at David’s bottom lip, and slips his tongue in David’s mouth, and David can hear Patrick’s breathing quicken. David kisses him back, because how could he _not_ , when Patrick is so eager, and—fuck, they’re making out. In Patrick’s bed. So David pulls away, Patrick chasing after him until the last moment. 

“Patrick,” David says. “We probably...shouldn’t. Let’s try to get some sleep now, yeah?”

Patrick doesn’t respond, but David knows he’s just taking a moment to catch his breath. “Yeah,” Patrick says once his breathing has evened out. “Let’s—let’s get some sleep.” Patrick rolls over, and David is grateful both for the dark and the fact that Patrick is facing away from him now, because he doesn’t particularly want anyone to see the fond smile spreading across his face, not even Patrick.

David moves closer to Patrick, and Patrick shifts backwards slightly to meet him. David adjusts the sheets, making sure they’re not bunched up uncomfortably, and tucks an arm up under the pillow. For a moment, he debates what to do with his other arm, but he decides to go for it, and wraps his arm around Patrick, his hand coming to rest on Patrick’s sternum. “Is this—”

“Yeah, this is—really nice. Thank you, David.” Patrick brings his hand up to cover David’s, wrapping his fingers around David’s hand tightly and holding their hands snug against his chest. 

“You’re welcome,” David says, and he nuzzles the fine hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck. He thinks he hears Patrick’s breath catch in response, but he’s not sure. “Good night, Patrick.”

“Good night, David.”

Considering how much trouble he had getting comfortable just moments ago, David is surprised by how _right_ he feels now. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. Alone in his motel bed, he’s gotten used to lying awake uncomfortably for a while before he falls asleep—a situation he usually blames on the lumpy mattress. But here, warm and cozy with Patrick in his arms, he falls asleep almost instantly.


End file.
